


too much

by layszcat



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, One Shot, Other, Sexual Fantasy, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27699710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/layszcat/pseuds/layszcat
Summary: what is this feeling?
Relationships: William Afton | Dave Miller/Henry Emily
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	too much

William Afton is doesn't like unnecessary things.

Unnecessary things, like these feelings deep within him. Plaguing him like a disease.

He feels as if he can drown in this feeling, fall into it and disappear forever. But it feels relentless, scratching at him until he feels as if he might die.

William hates how unnecessary these thoughts are, because he simply hates unnecessary things. But at the same time, everything happens for a reason, right?

He is just a human, he's a human, he tries to convince himself that these feelings are natural. These thoughts and feelings that make his chest tight and his body feel wide awake in the middle of the night; it makes him wonder if he'll be the man he wants to if he continuously acts like this.

But now, his breathing is labored, hot and heavy in the privacy and darkness of his bedroom. William can feel his unkept hair against the skin of his neck. It itches from the heat, his hands reaching to relieve the prickly, irate feeling on his skin. But he stops himself from touching midway, a sigh leaving his chapped lips.

All he needs to do is endure. 

Endure the irritable itching, the unbearable tightness in his chest, these unnecessary feelings...

Because he's sick of running away. Tired of ignoring the perpetual curse that is this feeling. 

No, he must face it, take it in stride, and live with it.

William has no name for this ache in his chest. This fluttering feeling in his stomach. What would he even label it? "Like?" " _Love_?"

No, no, it goes deeper than that, runs through him and makes his veins push hot blood through his body. Makes his eyelids flutter shut and his hand somehow… 

_ Somehow he… _

A grunt leaves William’s throat, and he wonders how he's in such a state again. It isn't uncommon anymore, something so sinful, and that in itself, is a sin.

His head is nestled sweetly into the plush off-white of his pillows, body arched onto itself under his duvet. His hand, it guides itself in a slow, aching motion that drives William wild and turns him into a mess of himself.

But he isn't there yet. His brows furrow in frustration, and he almost stops, but he feels the feeling again. It's so intense that it almost drives him insane; so he keeps going nonetheless, moving his hand in calculated strokes.

His eyes open just for a second, but when he closes them, _his_ face is there behind his eyelids.

William can't stop himself after that.

He wonders, while tightening his grip just a little, _How would we have sex_? 

It's an embarrassing thought, that only creeps up on him at times like this, but he can't help it.

_Would I hold him_?

William can vividly picture Henry’s face, calm, with those brown eyes, cheeks flushed with his light hair a mess as gravity takes it from his face and onto the pillow. William might just get ahead of himself if he imagines his voice, so he decides against it; just basking in the glow of this dream, that feels sickeningly like a nightmare the more it isn't real.

In this position, Henry holding William tight with his legs around his waist, he can see his face clearly, amongst other things. Like the trembling of his body, the gentle rocking of their bodies as if they're one. Like a boat drifting on the everlasting seas.

William can feel it welling up in his chest, the plaguing feeling.

_Would I get to kiss him_?

This is the way it usually goes, William can feel him, his breath, his heartbeat, his skin. 

_Henry... Oh, Henry…_ William thinks. It's all too much at once. 

The aching in his chest, and the vision of his dream, it overwhelms him.

The ‘Henry Emily’ in William’s fantasies, he’s much too shy, too calm and too caring; because William can't picture him any other way. It infuriates and excites him simultaneously. He moves slow, and gentle, imagining the way Henry would make love to him, it's almost numbing.

William drowns in an uncharted mix of pain and pleasure, both in the dream and in real life.

William curses, breathing heavily, with his hand still rubbing bare, raw skin. 

"Henry…" his voice gives out an indefinite cry, the noise shameful, so much so that it makes the heat in his stomach coil tighter. Like the springs in his very own mattress, William feels wound up, ready to burst any second.

" _Henry_ …!"

He sounds more sure of himself this time, his voice desperate and filled with want. Picturing Henry here in a moment like this, it drives him over the edge so quick, his heart races as fast as his mind as he struggles to come down from the high of his orgasm.

And then William trembles.

He plummets down from his place in the clouds and his eyes open frantically. His bedroom feels foreign to him. It's as if he's gone through an awful lucid dream, which William presumes while pulling his soiled hand from his underwear, that he has.

A breath escapes his lips as if trapped in his tight lungs, and his inhalation and exhalation are thoroughly exaggerated. His breathing comes quick and hurried, before slowing as he somehow calms the quaking of his limbs.

An indistinguishable sound breaks free from his vocal chords before he sits up to awkwardly wipe his hand with one of the tissues on his bedside table.

Those are for his nose, he swears.

William feels the feeling, pressing against his chest and somehow going through it to grip his heart. It draws his entire body taut and makes him want to scream, but he doesn't. He won't.

Night is still upon him, yet William can't seem to sleep anymore.

Lithe fingers touch his lips, a smile cracking his face as he tries to remember how vividly he pictured Henry kiss them. His smile then turns sullen and suddenly he's angry.

Angry at himself for having these disgraceful feelings. Angry for thinking of his closest and most valued friend in such a lewd, debauched way. He's sad about his unrequited feelings of which have no name, angry about being so low as to have such thoughts, and ashamed. He's ashamed that he sins so brazenly, so freely.

Finally, William understands the black void that lives within him. The feelings that swallow him and grow on him, icky like mold.

_ Lust. _


End file.
